Late night frolic in the bedroom

Last night about 3AM, I woke up needed to take a whiz. This is not in itself unusual. What was unusual was that I had apparently been dreaming I was in a motel room right before I woke up. When I got up, I couldn’t see anything but some light leakage around the windows, and I couldn’t remember how to get to the bathroom because I thought I was still in the motel room from my dream. I was stumbling around my bedroom, not knowing where the bloody bathroom was.

I didn’t really wake up and clue into where I was until I started feeling my way around the room and managed to find my way to one of the windows and open the curtain. At that point (maybe it was the light from outside), it finally hit me that I was in my own bedroom, that the bathroom was just a few feet away, and (best of all) that I remembered where it was. I was very relieved.

I hate those creepy half-asleep, half-awake experiences.

Dreams: Cyndi’s News

This week has been really insane, and I needed a little break. Last night, I went on a group tour of a museum with Mark and my grandmother. We got a little annoyed at my grandmother for insisting on coming along, since she can barely walk and the tour involved lots of stairs. We missed half the tour waiting for her. The museum was fun, though.

When the tour was over, we all landed in a giant reception room where a huge crowd of people was watching the local news from San Francisco on a widescreen TV. Cyndi Lauper came on to do her nightly report, which she sings. We all enjoyed it, and then finished our drinks and went home.

Then I woke up.

Creepy Dream

OK, so this is the creepiest dream ever:

I’m sitting in a very nice restaurant with close relatives and maybe a friend or two (although I don’t remember WHO). We’re all about to have dinner, and I’m a little peeved that one of my friends and I will be supplying the random organ meat which will be the appetizer. From our own bodies. It apparently isn’t going to kill us or cause us big health problems, but will just be something of an inconvenience…

No wonder I’m a little pissed off, huh?

So I get all passive-aggressive and leave the table, asking (a bit sacrcastically) whether anyone minds if — seeing as how I’m going to BE dinner rather than be SERVED dinner — I run down to Burger King and get a snack, so I can have something to eat too…

As I walk down the street toward the Burger King, which seems to be a mile or so away, they keep calling after me. Which apparently wakes me up…

In retrospect, two things worry me about this dream:

  1. Why was I pissed off enough to do the whole passive-agrgressive thing, but not pissed off enough just to say “No, you’re NOT eating my spleen for dinner, goddammit!”?
  2. If they were going to eat my body parts, couldn’t they at least have had the common courtesy to FEED me first? How rude…

Dreams: Naked in Fourth Ward

I slept horribly, first having trouble getting to sleep at all and then repeatedly waking up, but finally I dozed for a good long stretch…

About 7:15, I woke up. In my grogginess, it took me a few seconds to realize I’d spent the night with friends in Fourth Ward. And that I wasn’t sure I’d parked my car legally the night before. And that it had probably been ticketed or towed…

So I went outside to check on it. Alas, I couldn’t remember where I’d parked the damned thing. I walked for blocks and blocks up Graham Street and never found my car. I was almost a mile from my friends’ apartment…

And then I realized I was buck naked, so I had to run all the way home to avoid getting arrested…

I hate dreams that make me wake up exhausted…

Dreams: Immigrating to the Sex Club

Interesting dream, but mine was stranger, I think. I don’t remember all the details, but the basic plot was that Mark and I were immigrating to Canada. The checkpoint and sign-in for immigrants was part of a very large semi-outdoors sex club situated around a lake. Mark went in ahead of me while I signed some paperwork and checked my clothes, which seemed to take an inordinantly long time. Then I couldn’t find Mark, so I stolled around the lake wondering how many of the fags there really wanted to move to Canada and how many of them were locals who were just there for the sex…

Then I woke up, realizing that I needed to take a whiz, and pondering how dressing and undressing always seem to take a really long time in dreams…

Dreams: The Bus

It was a really long and very cold San Francisco day, and I was glad to see the 12-Folsom finally coming down The Embarcadero. Once I finally got on the bus, I realized I only had a five dollar bill. We were almost to my stop on the edge of downtown Greensboro before a nice platinum-blonde lipstick lesbian (who was strangely flirty) gave me change so I could pay the fare.

I got off the bus and walked a couple of blocks toward Elm Street. For some reason, the stop wasn’t at its normal place, but I didn’t find this terribly odd. I was, however, surprised by all the clutter in the streets: barricades, concrete barriers, etc. Then I realized that I was in a roped-off area along with an older lady who had been on the bus with me. And all of a sudden, there was a crowd of onlookers by the ropes – hundreds of them.

I heard a pop like a firecracker, then a horn and a bell, and a shout. Instantly, I knew what was going on. I turned around, and within seconds, a 12-story building a block a way was being imploded. Thinking fast, I suggested that the older lady and I run away quickly before we were enveloped in a cloud of dust. I was particularly worried about the dust, because I was already a little stuffy. We ran across all the debris in the street, debris which didn’t come from the building, but which had already been there when we arrived.

A couple of blocks away, we figured we’d safely outrun it all. There were still lots of spectators milling about. Everyone looked a little lost because they apparently had torn down a different building than the one everybody was expecting. We waited a while to see if they’d go ahead and bring down the right one too, but I got bored and decided to walk home.

After hiking the three or four miles down Spring Garden Street to my parents’ house, I found Mark there waiting for me with several friends I hadn’t seen in years and whose names I couldn’t remember. Mark and I decided to go to bed.

And I woke up with him this morning back in San Francisco, ready for another day at work. I hope today and tonight will be slightly less eventful. I’m rather tired.

Randomly Monday

I’ve been having a lot of vaguely odd dreams featuring members of my family lately. Not disturbing, mind you, but just odd. For example, in one, I drove to the mall with my aunt and ran into my parents there. Shortly afterward, the mall turned into an airport and my aunt turned into my cousin (no Southern inbreeding jokes, please) and we were running from one end of said airport to the other looking for an emergency exit…

Yeah. So anyway, I know that all this has to do with guilt over the fact that I haven’t been home in almost two years. Thus, I’m starting to plan a quick trip — maybe four or five days tops — since I can’t manage more for a number of reasons right now…

Other random thoughts for a Monday afternoon:

  • Why does a city as large as San Francisco have such a miserable excuse for a newspaper? I’m not expecting the LA Times here, but you’d think a city of almost 800,000 people could manage an effort on something that takes almost as long to read as the Mercury News. San Jose isn’t all THAT much bigger a city.
  • Yes, I sometimes like gently reminding San Francisco that is neither the biggest nor (I’d argue) the most dominant city in the Bay Area anymore.
  • I dunno about this; the world has already seen my tweeter once.
  • Why no. No I didn’t post those pictures of LA this weekend. Nor answer any email. Nor will I probably end up doing so tonight.

Randomly Wednesday

Things I meant to write about yesterday but didn’t, since I was making a dent in The Big Pile of Emailâ„¢:

  • Two consecutive nights of dreams I actually remembered the next day. Neither of them was terribly exciting, but in one of them I was a 1970s cop show detective investigating a murder inside a really cool 1960s motor lodge. I’m not sure, but I think it may have been in Atlanta. Or Reno.

  • San Francisco’s new law banning public urination and defecation. But that was too easy a target. Biggest wonders: (1) why there wasn’t already one and (2) why there was any significant debate on the issue.
  • The loss of a semi-daily Jonno. We’ve both been doing variations on this theme for so damned long that I feel like we’re old friends, even though I don’t think we’ve ever even been in the same state at the same time, much less the same room.

Dreams

Must be going around. I went almost ten years without remembering a single dream, but the past several months I’ve been averaging at least one biggie a week. And there’s no real logic: for example, they’re just as likely to hit when I’m sleeping alone or in tandem, and my general state of mind seems to have no effect either…

Fortunately, mine haven’t been particularly disturbing, although there was that one about running into Tony Randall and Jack Klugman in a sex club…

Dreamy

This is the second time this week I’ve had a dream which involved me being in high school. Last night’s centered around the first day of the semester. I was in math class. The teacher was trying to explain some obscure concept with plates of rather unpleasant vegan food which, for some reason, we all kept eating before she could make her point. All the while, I was trying to keep the attention of some girl I had the hots for…

Y’know, I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to know what that whole thing symbolized…